The Godfather?
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly wants a baby, but Sherlock doesn't approve of her methods. Sherlolly


"Sherlock, do you like children?" Molly Hooper asked the question in a casual manner. It was directed at her good friend and lunch companion Sherlock Holmes.

"It depends. I like them boiled or roasted. They get a bit tough if fried!" Sherlock made light of the enquiry.

"You adore Claire," Molly was referring to the toddler daughter of his best friend Dr. John Watson, and his wife Mary.

"Of course I do. I can only assume that my involvement in her prenatal conditioning and developement has helped to make her into an extraordinary child! Not all children can be so blessed." Sherlock made this pronouncement with a smile on his face. Molly, studying him, couldn't decipher whether he was joking or not, so she decided to drop the subject. For now.

It was a few days latter that Molly raised the subject of children again, this time as she was lunching at the Watson's flat with her good friend Mary. John running around somewhere with Sherlock. When most men got together with friends on the weekend it might mean a visit to the pub, or a game of football. Those two visited crime scenes. So, Mary and Molly were sitting in the kitchen, with Molly holding baby Claire on her knee. Mary seldom got to hold her child when Molly, or Sherlock for that matter, were around, which didn't exactly upset her.

"I'm telling you, Molls, I thought she was trouble before she could walk! If this is what she's like at eighteen months, I dread the thought of the 'terrible twos'!" Mary complained in a thoroughly loving voice, and Molly heard only the affection and happiness, not the grousing.

"Sometimes I get so worried that I'm never going to have one of these," she said rather seriously to her friend. "I'm not getting any younger, and god knows, my relationships never seem to work out."

"That's because you haven't found the right man," Mary had tried to come up with something better, but that old cliche was the only thing that came to mind.

"Come on, Mary. Everybody knows I've found the right man! At least by my standards. But he's not looking for the right woman. Or man. Or anything!"

Mary grimaced, but with a touch of sympathy.

"Anyway, I've been thinking about going another route. What do you think about artificial insemination?", Molly said in a serious tone of voice.

Mary was shocked, but tried not to show it. "Are we talking an anonymous donor? Or someone specifically?"

"I've actually considered both. You can screen anonymous donors, but there are no guarantees. On the other hand, having a friend donate, I would know exactly what I'm getting myself into. But the whole situation could be very awkward."

"Not John!"

"God no, Mary. I wouldn't want our kids growing up half-siblings, and not knowing it! Besides, you're my best friend. That would make the situation awkward, squared!"

"Greg? I think he's always kinda fancied you."

"Again, too awkward. I was thinking someone from my uni days. Someone who I know, but am not all interested in, and vice versa. I wouldn't mind my child knowing their father, but I really don't want to share custody with an almost stranger. I guess I'm being selfish, but if I'm not in a relationship, I'd prefer to do this on my own."

"You really have given this a lot of thought, haven't you, Molls. But have you considered the obvious choice?"

"You mean Sherlock, of course! Mary, be realistic. You know how he tries to run Claire's life. Unwanted nutritional advice, parenting tips. For god's sake he tried to convince you that 'Sherlock' was a suitable name for a girl. Bloody hell, it's barely a suitable name for a boy! He takes notes on her behaviors, he keeps a growth chart at his flat. He only manages to control himself because he's afraid you'll shoot him again…"

Mary winced.

"Sorry...but you know what I mean. He'd steamroll me! It would wind up his kid, with me as a glorified nanny. No! No, no, no!"

"Yeah, well, you'll have to deal with him when he finds out about this plan of yours!"

"Why? Why should it be any concern of his? He can be godfather, just like he is to Claire. Just do me a favor, and promise to shoot him again if he gets out of control, huh?"

"Oh, Molly. If you think Sherlock is going to sit still for this, you're crazy. But I'll support any decision you make. I just want to see you happy." And, that being said, Mary squeezed her friend's hand and smiled supportively, although with a touch of "we'll see" in her eyes.

It didn't occur to Molly that she had not sworn Mary to secrecy until she got home that evening. Knowing her friend, John was already privy to their conversation. And that meant Sherlock knew. Molly was not ready for his lectures on the matter. In his eyes, Mary and the baby had captured entirely too much of John's attention. He understood, on an intellectual level, that his selfishness was entirely inappropriate, but at the level at which he operated, that of a spoiled five year old, it was entirely justified. She could only imagine how he would take to sharing "his" pathologist with an infant. No more midnight runs to the lab. No more organs-to-go delivery service to his flat! She would no longer be at his beck and call! He surely would not take kindly to the change in his life style. It was, therefore, with some trepidation, that Molly looked forward to his next visit to her lab, or perhaps an outraged text message on her mobile.

Surprisingly, the days passed without incident. No messages. No phone calls. When he did show up in her lab a few days later, he merely looked her over, up and down, and took his usual seat in front of his favorite microscope, pretending to study a slide with interest. Molly knew he was pretending because he had neglected to insert a slide under the lens. When he finally spoke it was with a calmness Molly had not expected.

"So, Dr. Hooper _(Oh _Molly thought, _he's calling me Dr. Hooper. This could mean trouble_.), John tells me you're planning to have a child. Don't you think you should have consulted me?"

"Why, Sherlock?"

"I would be the logical choice to father the child, wouldn't you say? We're of compatible personality types, above average intelligence, healthy, no genetic flaws, at least on my side of the gene pool…"

"Sherlock, while I appreciate your offer, I have all but decided to get in touch with an old friend from uni…"

"I see. You have...feelings for this...sperm donor?" he practically spit out the words.

"Of course not! That's the whole point of this. He's a sperm donor, nothing more. He's kind, intelligent, healthy. I'm not interested in him, he's not interested in me. Perfect from my point of view." Molly finished her spiel in one rush of breath, not allowing him to interrupt.

"You would have sex with someone you haven't seen since your university days, on one or possibly more occasions, simply to conceive. I know other women do that Molly, but I thought better of you!"

"Sherlock, you're not really listening. He's simply, as you said yourself, a SPERM DONOR! He won't even be in town. He'll be sending a frozen sample. Good lord, Sherlock, what made you think the other?"

Sherlock left the lab, muttering to himself, "Bloody John Watson has some explaining to do!"

John, of course, had told Sherlock, in no uncertain terms, that Molly Hooper wanted a child, and was looking for someone to father said child. He had conveniently left out the part about artificial insemination, knowing the his friend would immediately go crazy. Over the years, Sherlock Holmes had systematically sabotaged any relationship, or potential relationship, in which Molly was involved. The threat of her actually reproducing with another man might finally be the straw which broke that camel's back. John knew that Sherlock would never allow it, for reasons which he probably would not admit, even to himself. He would dress it up in logic, point out the impracticality of it, and eventually stomp his feet like a spoiled child. But when it came right down to it, it was because seeing his pathologist so intimately involved with another man would break his heart, even as he denied having one. And so it was that shortly thereafter, while working his clinic hours, Dr. Watson received the following text.

I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU BLOODY TWIT - SH

WASN'T MOLLY IMPRESSED WHEN YOU OFFERED HER YOUR SERVICES? - JW

I CAN GET AWAY WITH IT, YOU KNOW!- SH

Sherlock was relieved that Molly had yet to figure out that his offer to father her child was by the old fashion means, not the cryo-packed frozen delivery system. Now all he had to do was talk her into it. He could go to John for advice on how to win her over to his way of thinking (after all, in his single days John was quite the ladies man!), but his friend seemed to be enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. Besides, he had just threatened to kill him. John might hold a grudge. Or Mary might. Brrr!

But Molly was no dummy. She reviewed the strange conversation in her mind. Sherlock had been under the impression that she intended to have sex with someone in order to get pregnant. Then it had occurred to her that he was under this impression when he offered himself as the father. What the hell was going on here? Was Sherlock actually propositioning her? Was he willing to go that far just to have her to himself. Did he like her? Did he like woman? Did he like anybody? Her head was spinning with possibilities.

It was the following week, on a certain date which Sherlock had calculated to be perfect, that he showed up unannounced at Molly's flat. Most ordinary men, after living with their wives for so long, can certainly sense the ebb and flow of their monthly cycles. They know what days to avoid conversation, and what days to provide their women with chocolate ice cream and sympathy. What days required cuddles, and what days required a quick retreat. Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary man. He was a very astute observer. He often advised John on what days to avoid Mary. She was, after all, a dangerous woman. (Perhaps he would let John fend for himself this month. Serves him right!) If the stars aligned and his plans worked out, she would need no frozen shipment from an old friend.

Meanwhile, Molly was sitting alone in her flat on that same date. Mary had assured her that Sherlock was up to something. Come to think of it, Mary had warned her that she'd have to deal with the detective from the first moment she told her of her plans. So far nothing untoward had happened, but there did seem to be an uneasy feeling of expectancy in the air. That was when Sherlock knocked at her door, and not waiting for her to answer, let himself in.

"Molly, we have some things to discuss."

"No we don't."

"Well, if you're not going to discuss, then just sit and listen to me. I quite like the sound of my own voice…"

"I know!"

"Molly, don't interrupt! As I was saying, my first reaction when I heard that you planned to conceive was, I must say, negative…"

Molly knew he was talking, but she couldn't take her eyes off his dark curls and the way they bounced about his face when he was this animated.

"...but I have come to the conclusion that if anyone in this world deserves to be a mother it's you. Your kind and generous nature…"

He was still talking, but her eyes had drifted down to the two buttons left undone on his shirt, and his collar bone which peeked through. Feeling guilty for becoming so distracted, she lifted her eyes to meet his eyes, and caught her breath at how lovely they looked when they were studying her.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

"Of course I am. Continue please."

"I believe that you would make an excellent mother. But I do believe that children need more than that. Statistics show that children raised in a stable environment, that is, one with two co-habiting parents, have the best chance at a successful…"

Molly eyes now made their way further down his body. Oh my god, he's wearing jeans. Tight, black jeans! She felt herself flush. There was a tightening in her stomach. Being a doctor, she knew the first clinical signs of arousal. It was to be expected, this being the most fertile period of her monthly cycle and…

"You son of a bitch!"

"Please, Molly. My mother is a lovely woman!" Sherlock tried, unsuccessfully, to appear innocent.

He knew! He had made it a point ages ago to inform her that he knew all about the critical days of her cycle. He had smugly informed John of the best days to avoid her in her lab, He had embarrassed her by making public excuses for her while she was having her period. He knew she would be especially vulnerable to his curls, and his eyes, and those damned tight jeans on this particular day.

"You bastard!"

"Figuratively, not literally, maybe!"

"What do you want Sherlock? Really? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly. I'm just trying to figure out, why not me?" He sounded genuinely hurt as he spoke quietly. Sherlock then took her in his arms because she looked like she might cry. "I've always thought you fancied me. I even convinced myself that you loved me. And then you go and talk about having a baby, a baby, damn it, with some almost stranger. I know I'm not perfect…" He heard Molly snicker at this. "Alright, no need to get mean!"

"I do love you, Sherlock."

"Good."

"Good? That's all you have to say!"

"It's good because it makes it easier to tell you I love you. Because I do. And I want you. And I want a baby. And I want us to get married, and live together, and grow old together. I'll even let your bloody cat live with us, if it comes to that. I will remove all human organs from the fridge, I will paint over the smiley face on the wall, and promise not to discharge firearms in the house, at least after our first child is born. Is that good, Molly?"

"That's good, Sherlock."

Molly held onto him with all her might, squeezing so tightly he thought she would crush a rib. He finally extricated himself long enough to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, and whisper into her ear, "Since the timing is perfect, maybe we should get started?"

He started to guide her toward the bedroom, but he turned to say quietly, "'You know, Sherlock really is a girl's name."

Molly smiled gently and replied, "No it isn't. And neither is Mycroft!"


End file.
